by T. I. Lowe
“Did you hear Doc Nelson is retiring?” Dalma chimed in.
“Really?” Josie asked while gathering the dirty dishes. As soon as she had them piled up, a busboy came by and began carrying them away.
“Yeah. Bertie and Ethel were carrying on and on about it last week. Said Doc has some fancy-schmancy doctor from Alabama taking over the practice next year.” Dalma stood and her tiny frame let out a crackling sound. “Ugh. My bones are getting rusty.” She made a face at Collin, making the little boy giggle.
“I’ll meet you back at your parents’, babe.” Without a parting kiss for his wife or even a smile for his son, Ty tossed a hundred-dollar bill on the table and walked away.
The couple might have been too distracted, but Josie let Opal know she wasn’t when the tall blonde latched on to her arm and said, “Opal Gilbert, you’re not getting away so easily.”
“What are you talking about?” Opal stuttered as panic kicked up her heart rate. She tried to recall if she’d meddled with Josie lately but was drawing a blank. Sure, she had something brewing, but not for the next twenty minutes at least.
“Don’t you want to talk about Lincoln?” Josie nodded in encouragement.
Sophia paused in gathering Collin’s belongings. “What’s going on with Lincoln?”
“Oh, he just had some business to attend to back in Beaufort.” Opal reached over and scooped up Collin for one last hug.
Once Sophia and Collin said their goodbyes and were out of sight, Opal said, “She’s got enough on her plate. No need in bothering her.”
Josie scoffed. “You’re always there for us when we need you, but when the tables are turned, you’re just going to brush us off.”
“How’d you even know about Lincoln leaving?” Opal asked, scanning the busy beach shore. People were out walking dogs, collecting shells, or simply sitting in beach chairs while admiring the ocean waves.
“Miss Dalma and I ran into him this morning at Growler’s on his way out of town.”
“That’s one strapping young man.” Dalma whistled low. “All that long hair is something else.”
Both young women paused to glance at Dalma. She grinned with no shame, owning her swooning like a champ.
Josie brought her attention back to Opal. “What can I do?”
People called Opal a meddler, but Josie was a fixer and she’d just given Opal the opener she needed to do some more meddling.
Opal wiped off some sand from the rail and leaned on it. “I need a distraction. Something to get my mind off Linc leaving.” She knew he had to go, but it sure didn’t make her feel any better about the way he went about it.
“You have any distraction suggestions? Or do I need to come up with something?” Josie was already pulling her phone out, but Opal waved her off.
“Remember that car Great-Granny left me in her will?”
Josie nodded. “The one you’ve had in storage for, what, three or four years now?”
“Yes.” Opal motioned for them to follow her off the deck. “I want to donate it to the Grand Strand Car Museum, but I think we need to take it for a spin first.”
“Can I drive?” Dalma asked, her face bright with hope.
“Mm . . .” Opal tapped her chin. “Maybe next time.” She laced her arm with Dalma’s to help the lady maneuver the sand.
Once they rounded the diner, Dalma came to a sudden halt. Her teeth came close to falling out. She shoved them back in and mumbled, “That’s the car?”
Opal waved her arm, mimicking a game show hostess. “Teal-and-white ’57 Chevy Bel Air. Maybe the finest automobile ever made.”
“You are correct, so why on earth would you want to give this baby away?” Dalma unraveled her arm from Opal’s and walked over to give it a thorough inspection. “Can we put the top down?”
“Sure,” Opal agreed, and with Josie’s help, the roof was down in no time. They were about to climb in when Dalma stopped them.
“Our outfits simply won’t do. Josie, dear, take us to my house. Opal, follow us.” She headed for Josie’s truck without waiting for a reply.
Josie sighed, already wearing her martyrdom expression, while Opal clapped her hands and somehow found a giggle hiding just past her tender heart.
One Gorton’s fisherman granny, one bell-bottom-wearing hippie, and one reluctant tomboy entered Dalma’s beach house and went straight to what Opal viewed as a treasure trove of various decades’ fashion that Dalma kept in the guest bedroom closet.
Thirty minutes later . . .
Three women exited Dalma’s beach house, looking as if they’d walked straight off the set of Pleasantville. Dalma and Opal donned lollipop dresses, white gloves, and their wild hair was pinned in updos. Their sling-back heels tapped down the outdoor stairs in an enthusiastic tempo. Josie followed behind them, wearing a silky sheath dress with a hemline just this side of being too short. She tugged it down and then adjusted the oversize white sunshades.
“The sunglasses are the only thing that fit,” Josie complained, her flip-flops flapping out a much-less eager rhythm.
“The scarf fits too,” Dalma defended, pointing to the polka-dot scarf tied around Josie’s pinned-up hair. “You look prettier than Marilyn Monroe!”
Josie plopped her hands on her bony hips. “No, I don’t. Marilyn would have had curves to fill this dress out.” She helped Dalma into the front seat and shut the door. She then hiked up the already-short skirt a little higher, lifted a long leg over the side of the car, and climbed in the back.
Opal snorted. “That was so ladylike.”
“That’s as lady as it’s going to get today.” Josie waited until Opal was in the driver’s seat to lean up and say just loud enough for only her to hear, “We look ridiculous. If anyone sees us—”
Opal scoffed out a laugh, cutting off Josie’s threat. “Honey, this set of flashy wheels is about to be cruising down Sunset Cove Boulevard. There’s no question we will be seen.”
“And with us all spiffed up, I bet we’ll make the paper and maybe even the news!” Dalma chimed in.
Josie tried climbing out of the backseat, one leg slung over the side before Opal stopped her with a serving of guilt.
“What happened to you wanting to be there for me? Declaring it even?” Opal lowered her cat-eye sunglasses and raised an eyebrow.
Josie dropped her leg and huffed.
Dalma pulled out a tube of lipstick from her purse. She flipped open the sun visor and applied fire-engine red to her wrinkly lips with precision even though it bled like tiny rivers around her mouth. She turned from the small mirror and asked Opal, “How do I look?”
“Fabulous,” Opal declared as Dalma passed her the tube, but she played at waving it off just to tease the old lady. “No, I shouldn’t. Oh. Okay!” She accepted the Chanel lipstick and applied a quick coat and tried to hand it to Josie.
“I’m good.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, humor an old lady and put the dang lipstick on.” Dalma plucked the tube out of Opal’s fingers and shoved it into Josie’s hand. “We’re wasting daylight. Come on now, before Ethel’s ornery butt shows up and tries strong-arming me into a nap. I only have a good decade left in me. I’m certainly not wasting it napping.” Dalma pointed a stern gloved finger at Josie, finishing off adding a layer of guilt to Opal’s effort.
Josie barely dabbed the lipstick to her puckered lips before handing it back, but Dalma seemed satisfied with her effort enough to turn forward in her seat.
Opal glanced at Josie in the rearview mirror as she cranked the car. Worry tried nagging her that if Josie was this tetchy about playing dress-up and cruising around town, she certainly wouldn’t take well to what was in store during their little joyride. Never one to back out after committing to a task, Opal accepted a fallout would probably end up being the outcome and put the car in drive anyway. She took a deep inhale of the salty air infused with a hint of the car’s old leather and gently pressed her foot to the gas pedal.
As the convertibl
e began sailing down the narrow inlet road, Opal tossed a hand in the air and yelled, “Ya-ya!”
Dalma quickly joined in, her smiling face tipped slightly toward the gloriously bright sun above them. No doubt the image would have made a perfectly retro Grand Strand postcard. Before they turned off the avenue and onto the oceanfront road, Josie dropped her sulking and was pulling up a fifties music station on her phone. Going as far as shoo-wopping along with the song as the Bel Air moved at a crawl’s pace down the breezy road.
After one pass around town, the three women really got into the spirit of things and brought out their best beauty queen wave and offered it to any passerby they glided by as if they were in a parade. Opal kept her mask of fun in place while her eyes frantically searched for the object of this little outing. She had it on good word that a famous artist was in town for Carter’s thirtieth birthday. August Bradford needed his attention pulled away from his world of art long enough to recall the hopes of one day including Josie in his world. It’s what he shared in a late-night phone call last year, so Opal felt she was simply doing them both a favor. Hopefully, in the long run, they’d view it as such. A party was under way at the moment at the Bradfords’ beach house. She and Lincoln were supposed to be in attendance until he bailed on her without so much as a word of goodbye.
Her lips began to frown, so Opal brushed those thoughts to the side and made another loop around town. She completed several more loops that had them driving by the beach house until finally she hit pay dirt. As they approached, a tall figure dressed in black with a matching beanie shoved low over his head stood from where he was crouched on the driveway. Once they were a little closer, Opal could see he was drawing something on the surface with his youngest brother. Both had chalk in their hands.
Opal beeped the horn and August Bradford turned to look in their direction. Wayfarer Ray-Bans covered his eyes but there was nothing obscuring the view of his wide grin as he dusted his hand on the side of his black jeans, leaving a streak of pink, before lifting it to wave at them.
Opal and Dalma returned it with their very best beauty queen wave while Josie let out a screech in the backseat.
She leaned forward and hissed in Opal’s ear, “If you stop this car, you’re gonna see a wrath that’ll make Hurricane Lacy look like a subtle breeze.”
The hairs on the back of Opal’s neck stood, but she kept waving. Josie didn’t pull out that lethal tone very often, but when she did, the naturally docile woman meant business. With no other choice, Opal reluctantly pressed her foot back on the gas pedal and drove past August and little Zachary. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw his grin fade into a questioning frown as they left him right where Josie had kept him for the better part of a decade—out of reach.
Dalma turned in the seat and clucked her tongue. “Are you blind, Josie Slater? That’s the best-looking feller Sunset Cove has ever produced. Why can’t we just go back and look at him for a spell?”
Josie ignored the little lady and directed her attention to the driver’s seat. “I should have known you were up to no good, Opal Gilbert.”
Opal shrugged a shoulder while coming to a stop at one of the three stoplights in town. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Josie growled. “You drove by his family’s beach house six times, so you can drop the act.”
“What’s so wrong with that?” Dalma piped in. “Humph. August sure doesn’t look like a starving artist with those broad shoulders. Don’t even pretend, girlie, that you didn’t see how well he’s filled out in the last six years.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve concluded there’s no reason to notice things that aren’t . . .” Josie cleared her throat. “Besides, he’s only here for a day and will be on a flight back to New York in the morning.”
Opal glanced over her shoulder just before the light turned green. “Ha! You have been keeping up with him!”
“The entire town keeps up with all things August Bradford and are mighty quick to stop in at the counter and tell me all about it.” Josie’s voice broke on the last part.
Opal eased her attention to the rearview mirror and caught sight of Josie batting a tear away from underneath the edge of her sunglasses. She knew how her friend felt, dreaming for one thing only to be served another choice.
The Everly Brothers began singing “All I Have to Do Is Dream” from Josie’s phone. The phone was quickly switched off and the joyride grew somber.
After a few sniffles from the backseat, Opal knew she had to rectify her well-intended wrong, so she dropped the subject and kept her foot on the gas until they’d passed over the old swing bridge. Just on the other side was a drive-in diner, complete with servers zooming around on roller skates. She pulled in and parked by one of the intercom menus, knowing a round of chocolate milk shakes was exactly what the trio needed.
With the awesome set of wheels and the women’s killer outfits, they fit right in with the kitschy atmosphere and were treated like royalty. By the time the milk shakes and orders of onion rings on the house were delivered, the somberness had been lessened to a manageable enough size that the women seemed content with shoving it into the Bel Air’s glove box to be ignored until a later time.
The ride back across the waterway, hands were catching the breeze passing by and smiling faces tipped in the direction of the sun. Opal was impressed with her and Josie’s little act even though it would undoubtedly only last until each woman returned to her rightful home. Dalma began snoring, causing Josie and Opal to crack and let out a genuine giggle and grin. Opal reached over and straightened the tiny lady’s head in a better angle before returning her hand to the steering wheel.
“This isn’t our entire story, Jo. It’s only a season.” Opal glanced in the mirror long enough to see Josie nodding. “We just have to keep navigating it for now and be patient.”
Josie said nothing, so Opal let it go.
Hopefully, the two brokenhearted women would find a way through the season of wait. Opal just knew that’s what both of their situations were and felt certain that God had big plans just on the horizon. They just had to keep having faith in him and in their dreams.
17
No fanfare or welcome wagon greeted Lincoln as he stepped out of the Jeep and strode up to the front door of his parents’ colonial-style house with its pristine white paint job, much to his relief. It wasn’t a sprawling estate like what Opal’s parents owned, but it had always felt like a castle to Lincoln growing up. Being the only child with his father oftentimes stationed overseas, it tended to be a lonely castle.
The crisp American flag waved proudly from its pole beside the porch with the red Marine Corps flag doing the same just below it. He took a deep inhale, taking in the familiar murky notes of the creek that ran the back of their property, before letting himself inside. It opened straight into the living room, which was dim with nothing but the late-morning light seeping through the sheer curtains. He knew where to find his father, so with a slow gait, he walked to the back of the house and stopped at the home office that was more of a hunting and fishing game room.
The door sat ajar, giving Lincoln a view of the worktable where his father sat meticulously cleaning a pistol. The scene wasn’t playing out anywhere close to the one in the Bible. Lincoln figured it was in his best interest to stay rooted by the door.
“You just gonna stand there all day?”
Lincoln jumped slightly at the booming timbre of his father’s voice. Colonel Jefferson Cole was one loud man even when he whispered.
“No, sir.” Lincoln took a step inside the room but remained close to the door.
“This mean you’re back?” He set the cleaning rod down, eyes trained on the barrel of the gun as he inspected it.
“Yes, sir.”
“Suppose we need to clear the air on some things.”
“Yes, sir.” Lincoln looked his father over. Relief washed through him when no visible scar could be found along Jefferson’s clean-shaven jaw.
> Jefferson looked up from the pistol and raised a bushy eyebrow. “You gonna say more than ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’?”
“Yes, sir.” As soon as Lincoln answered, a smile cracked the stony expression on his father’s face.
“You up for a walk?” His father’s smile slowly seeped away as he looked at the cane in Lincoln’s hand.
“Yes, sir.”
Jefferson shook his head and stood from the table. In a gray T-shirt tucked neatly into a pair of black cargo pants, the man looked ready to take on the world. Or perhaps just a rebellious son. “Maybe we should just have a seat on the porch.”
“Yes, si—Okay.” Lincoln nodded and let his father lead the way, not feeling worthy enough to be followed by anyone, especially the highly decorated colonel.
As the day warmed and the birds chirped, the two men cowered in their wicker chairs on opposite sides of the porch. Neither seemed to know where to begin.
Finally his father spoke first. “Heard you need another surgery.”
“Yes, sir, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“No?”
“No, sir.” Lincoln shook his head but kept his attention on the budding azalea bush in his line of vision. The entire front of the house was lined with them. Most folks had bright-pink or white ones, but the Cole family was proud to have the red variety. “I’m here to ask for your forgiveness.”
A silence stretched between them, making Lincoln more and more uncomfortable. He knew he didn’t deserve his father’s forgiveness, but boy, did he want it.
“And I need to ask for the same thing of you.”
Lincoln’s head snapped up and found his father watching him. “Sir?”
“Son, I’ve always thought I needed to tough-love you like I did my recruits, but I was wrong. You didn’t need another drill sergeant. You needed a father. I’m just sorry that all this had to happen for me to finally understand that.” Jefferson motioned between them. “And for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you.”
